SONNET:

WRITTEN ON THE 25TH JANUARY, 1793, THE BIRTHDAY OF THE AUTHOR, ON HEARING A THRUSH SING IN A MORN

ING-WALK.

SING on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough,
Sing on, sweet bird, I listen to thy strain;
See aged Winter, 'mid his surly reign,
At thy blithe carol clears his furrowed brow.

So in lone Poverty's dominion drear,

Sits meek Content with light unanxious heart; Welcomes the rapid moments, bids them part, Nor asks if they bring ought to hope or fear.

I thank thee, Author of this opening day! Thou whose bright sun now gilds yon orient skies!

Riches denied, thy boon was purer joys,

What wealth could never give nor take away!

Yet come, thou child of Poverty and Care, The mite high Heaven bestowed, that mite with thee I'll share.

署

ET. 35.]

LORD GREGORY.

47

LORD GREGORY.

“The very name of Peter Pindar is an acquisition to your work. His Gregory is beautiful. I have tried to give you a set of stanzas in Scots on the same sub

1 "The song of Dr. Wolcot (Peter Pindar) on the same subject, is as follows:

"Ah ope, Lord Gregory, thy door!

A midnight wanderer sighs;

Hard rush the rains, the tempests roar,
And lightnings cleave the skies.'

"Who comes with woe at this drear night -
A pilgrim of the gloom?

If she whose love did once delight,
My cot shall yield her room.'

"Alas! thou heard'st a pilgrim mourn,

That once was prized by thee:
Think of the ring by yonder burn
Thou gav'st to love and me.

"But shouldst thou not poor Marion know,
I'll turn my feet and part;

And think the storms that round me blow

Far kinder than thy heart.'

It is but doing justice to Dr. Wolcot, to mention that his song is the original. Mr. Burns saw it, liked it, and immediately wrote the other on the same subject, which is derived from the old Scottish ballad of uncertain origin." - CURRIE.

ject, which are at your service. Not that I intend to enter the lists with Peter- that would be presumption indeed! My song, though much inferior in poetic merit, has, I think, more of the ballad simplicity in it. - Burns to Mr. Thomson, 26th January, 1793.

O MIRK, mirk is this midnight hour,
And loud the tempest's roar;
A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tower,
Lord Gregory, ope thy door.

An exile frae her father's ha',
And a' for loving thee;
At least some pity on me shaw,
If love it may na be.

Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove

By bonny Irwine side,

Where first I owned that virgin love
I lang, lang had denied?

How aften didst thou pledge and vow
Thou wad for aye be mine;
And my fond heart, itsel' sae true,
It ne'er mistrusted thine.

Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory,
And flinty is thy breast:

Thou dart of heaven that flashest by,
O wilt thou give me rest!

ÆT. 35.]

LORD GREGORY.

Ye mustering thunders from above,
Your willing victim see!

But spare and pardon my fause love,
His wrangs to Heaven and me!

49

WANDERING WILLIE.

An imaginary address of Clarinda to her husband, from whom she had received overtures of reconciliation.

HERE awa', there awa', wandering Willie,

Now tired with wandering, haud awa' hame; Come to my bosom, my ae only dearie,

And tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the

same.

Loud blew the cauld winter winds at our parting,

It wasna the blast brought the tear in my

ee;

Now welcome the simmer, and welcome my

Willie

The simmer to nature, my Willie to me.

Ye hurricanes, rest in the cave of your slumbers,

O how your wild horrors a lover alarms! Awaken, ye breezes! row gently, ye billows! roll

And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms!

But if he's forgotten his faithfulest Nannie,

O still flow between us, thou wide-roaring

main !